


Jealousy

by waterbird13



Series: Tumblr Fics [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Sex, Jealous Dean, M/M, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3876259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn't see himself like Dean--and pretty much everyone else--does. Dean sets out to show him exactly what he's missing. An older fic being moved from Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone!
> 
> This is an older fic being moved from Tumblr.  
> Warnings for Wincest, explicit sex, top Dean, jealousy, and mentions of grief, I suppose.  
> Here's the prompt: Jealous! Dean, and Sammy being all cute and oblivious. And Sam is suprised by Dean’s possessiveness, but also /really/ turned on by it?  
> Hope you enjoy!

            Sam feels bad for this kid. He knows how terrible it is to lose someone you love. At least when it happened to him, he didn’t have to factor the Supernatural into his worldview on top of his grief.

            She’s a college student, and she was supposed to be on a romantic camping trip with her boyfriend. Only they’d definitely picked the wrong place, because a Wendigo had grabbed them both in the night. By the time Sam and Dean had arrived, it had been too late for the boyfriend. Still, Sarah-Ann was alive, and now, showered clean and stitched up by Sam, she looks like she’s going to be okay. Physically, at least.

            “How’re you doing?” he asks quietly as he ties off the last few stitches in her arm.

            She squirms slightly, but the pain is dulled by the pills Sam had given her before they’d even gotten into the car. The poor kid probably hasn’t even realized how badly her life has been messed up. “Okay,” she says, and she sounds tired, spacy.

            “That’s good,” Sam says. “Things are gonna be hard for a little while,” he adds. “I know. I’m gonna give you my number, okay? You can call me if you need to.”

            “Yeah?” she asks, “thanks, S—Sammy.”

            “Sam,” he reminds her gently. “I’m Sam.”

            She nods, head lolling. “Riight. Thanks, Sam. For saving me. I don’t know—don’t know what I’d’ve done—“ she trails off, hiccups, and buries her face in Sam’s shoulder.

            He gives her an awkward pat on the back. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says. “You’re gonna be okay.”

            She calms down, falling back into the drugged stupor, until she’s just resting against him, one hand on his thigh, the other on his shoulder.

            The front door cracks open, and Sam reaches for his knife. But it’s just Dean. “Wendigo is burnt,” he says curtly. “Time to go, Sammy.”

            Sam gestures helplessly to Sarah-Ann. “We can’t leave her, Dean.”

            “She’s practically passed out,” he says between clenched teeth. “Put her to bed and let’s go.”

            Bewildered, Sam does what Dean says, gently laying the poor girl on the bed, pulling the blankets over her. He brushes her hair out of her eyes and leaves some more pain killers, then follows Dean out the door.

            They’re quiet in the Impala, are quiet until they’re through the door of the cabin they’re renting. “The hell was that, Sammy?” Dean asks, voice still tight and tense, a spring ready to break.

            “What was what?”

            “You! That girl. You, what, gonna comfort her with your dick?”

            Sam is dumbfounded. “She’s just a kid! And her boyfriend died today, you ass!”

            “Yeah, well, don’t think she was thinkin’ much of him, way she was all over you.”

            Sam rolls his eyes. “She’s high as a fucking kite, she’s grieving. She wanted someone to hold her. That’s it. Why don’t you fucking trust me?”

            Dean’s eyes snap over to Sam. It hurts, knowing Dean doesn’t trust him, and Dean knows that. Dean steps closer, takes Sam’s face in his hands. “I trust you, Sammy,” he says, but his voice is still low and tight. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust. You still don’t know, do you, how fucking pretty you are? Look like sex, Sammy and, hell, all I know, your dick really could comfort grieving girls.”

            “Huh?” Sam asks, because, sure, he knows he looks pretty good. But Dean, Dean is the one people ogle in the streets and who waitresses give free pies to and who can charm girls’ panties off in less than five minutes of knowing them. Not Sam. Sam is—Sam is a big, awkward geek.

            Dean chuckles and slides his hands down Sam’s face, down his shoulders, all the way to his wrists. He strokes Sam’s pulse lightly with his thumb before raising the arms while walking Sam backwards, pressing him to the wall, arms above his head. “You are hot,” Dean says, voice low and rough. “And they want you, Sam. Todays grieving girl isn’t different from a lot of others. You don’t know, do you? You don’t see how they look at you. Why don’t you see it?”

            Sam’s bewildered by this sudden development, bewildered why Dean wants him to notice girls noticing him. “Because I’m yours,” he says simply, big, confused eyes pleading with Dean to start making sense.

            But Dean only gets more confusing, a cat-got-the-cream grin spreading across his face. “Yeah,” he agrees, voice smug. “Yeah, you are, Sammy. You’re mine, and they just wish they could have you.”

            “Dean, I—“

            “Shhh…” Dean says, stepping closer so they are flush together, Sam’s arms still raised. “Don’t talk unless you’re tellin’ me to stop. Right now, gonna show you why you’re mine.”

            He sinks his teeth into the junction of Sam’s neck and shoulder then, pulling back to lick the spot once he’s sure he’s left a bruise. Sam howls, arches, jerks in Dean’s grip.

            Dean squeezes his wrists. “Gonna let you go, Sammy. And you’re gonna take your clothes off, gonna spread out on the bed. Hands on the pillow, don’t take ‘em off, not unless you want me to stop.”

            Sam nods dumbly and starts pulling at his clothes. Once he’s on the bed, Dean straddles his hips, naked as well. “Look so good, Sammy,” he murmurs. “So fucking gorgeous. No wonder they all look at you.”

            Sam doesn’t say that no one looks at him, that no one would bother with Dean around. That it’s pointless, anyways, even if they do look at him; all he’s ever wanted is Dean. He doesn’t say anything, even if he wants to, because Dean is sucking one of Sam’s nipples, rolling the other with his thumb and forefinger, and speaking seems beyond Sam’s capabilities right now.

            “So pretty, Sammy,” Dean says again. “You mine?” Sam nods furiously, bangs falling in his face. “Yeah, you’re mine. Spread your legs for me, pretty. Let me see you.”

            So Sam opens himself up, bending his legs at the knees and spreading himself open as wide as possible. Dean takes the unused pillow and slides it under Sam’s hips.

            “Mmm,” Dean hums. “Love that only I get to touch here. Gonna make you come, Sammy, gonna make you come like only I can.”

            Sam nods his head again, desperate for any contact. Dean slicks his fingers and begins sliding them into Sam one at a time, stroking across his prostate while his free hand fondles Sam’s balls. All the while, he keeps up a litany of, “so pretty, gorgeous, god, you have no idea, mine, yeah?”

            Sam is thrashing on the pillows by the time Dean pulls his fingers out and slicks himself up. He’s whining, low in the back of his throat, and Dean leans over to kiss him hard. “Easy, Sammy,” he murmurs after pulling away. “Gonna take care of you, promise.”

            He lines himself up and slides in, captures Sam’s mouth in a hard, brutal kiss as he starts to thrust, hard pushes that always manage to get Sam’s prostate.

            Sam is ready to come practically instantaneously, but waits until Dean’s kisses get sloppier, lose their coordination. “Sammy, ‘m close,” he pants. “Come with me baby, come on.”

            Sam lets go, and Dean follows right behind, the two of them falling into a sweaty, sticky mess. Only then does Sam bring his hands down to wrap his arms around Dean, holding him close.

            Dean lifts his head. “Was that okay?” he asks, uncertain.

            Sam chuckles tiredly, exhausted from coming that hard. “Yeah, Dean, that’s okay.”


End file.
